


tar was dripping from his brush

by Chrononautical



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Wings, Experienced Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Virgin Crowley (Good Omens), but that is not a big deal, is also just enough of a bastard to be worth fucking, which does matter quite a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 07:10:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19825099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrononautical/pseuds/Chrononautical
Summary: After holding hands on a park bench for three days straight because neither of them want to let go first, Aziraphale comes to the joyful realization that Crowley might just be willing to sleep with him.





	tar was dripping from his brush

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Lou Reed's "You'll Know You Were loved" which also features the line, _Some of us never had a home/ and if we did, we left it long ago/ and didn't know we were loved._ Now, I'm not saying that a founding member of the Velvet Underground traveled through time to have feelings about an angel and a demon finding a place on earth to be together. This particular song was released in 1995, well after the book was published.

There were few pleasures a human body could experience in which Aziraphale had not indulged over the years. He quite liked indulging, as a matter of fact.1 After passing through hellfire and holy water, he rather thought it might be pleasant to finally indulge with Crowley in something other than a nice dinner.2 Unfortunately, when it came right down to it, matters hit a bit of a snag. Over the years, the prospect of Aziraphale’s adventures in that particular realm had generally been suggested by the other parties involved. He didn’t actually know how to go about instigating such events himself. 

An angel could not, for instance, say, “Fancy a shag?” 

To begin with, Crowley would definitely laugh at him. The very idea was ridiculous. Crowley was cool and aloof enough to get away with that sort of proposition, but Aziraphale could never pull it off. Aziraphale waited and hoped that Crowley might take the initiative. Sadly, the demon never once suggested anything more risque than picnics or dinner at the Ritz. Which was not to say that they didn’t make very good use of their new freedom to fraternize unmolested by higher or lower powers. Simply that they did not make all of the lovely uses that Aziraphale hoped they might. 

Instead, they sat on a bench in St. James and watched the ducks. 

Crowley sprawled. Crowley always sprawled on benches instead of sitting properly, as though he had more limbs than he really knew what to do with. One of his hands gripped the seat loosely next to his leg like a lazy anchor. It occurred to Aziraphale that just this once, he might relax his standards slightly. Not his posture, of course, but his hands did not have to be so carefully folded in his lap. Leaning forward slightly, as if to look at a particularly beautiful bird, Aziraphale rested his left hand on the bench. 

His littlest finger brushed Crowley’s wrist. 

Electricity sparked up his entire arm. The bubbling, delightful human hormones which Aziraphale so enjoyed flooded his entire body to an extent far beyond any he had hitherto experienced. Just keeping his back straight and his expression schooled neutrally was a great struggle. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry out. He wanted to wrap himself around Crowley and never, ever let him go. 

Crowley shifted next to him, and Aziraphale resigned himself to losing the sensation. Then, a warm hand covered Aziraphale’s own, threading their fingers together. 

Had the earlier sensation been enjoyable? This was the first crack of a crème brûlée, sweet cream and crisp sugar filling his mouth. This was the sharp cleanse of pickled ginger and the warmth of sake. This was the worn pages of a familiar book given new meaning by broader experience in the world. Aziraphale couldn’t contain a joyful giggle, but he tried to stifle it quickly. He looked at Crowley. 

So that there could be no question of the demon returning the glace behind his dark sunglasses, Crowley’s head was turned entirely away. In fact, his whole body—except the hand holding Aziraphale’s—was turned from the angel, his chin propped up by an elbow on the bench’s arm rest. He nodded vaguely at a young man whizzing past on a bright blue velocipede.3

“Think he’s going too fast?” 

“Oh, who cares!” Aziraphale cried happily. 

A slow, sideways smile teased the corner of Crowley’s mouth leading the rest of his face to pivot on his fist in Aziraphale’s direction. “Not me.” 

“Well, of course you don’t, speed demon,” Aziraphale said, trying to calm down. It wouldn’t do to make a scene. He managed to tell Crowley a story about a young woman, a cat, a velocipede, and a baguette in the south of France which was sufficiently ludicrous to make his friend laugh. 

Their conversation and their bird watching proceeded normally enough for a little while. Ever so occasionally, Crowley would slide his thumb along the back of Aziraphale’s hand in a way that nearly made the angel burst with pleasure. A more delightful afternoon was never spent in St. James Park. Eventually, inevitably, the sun set. 

It was a beautiful sunset. Neither angel nor demon made any move to depart. Instead, they spoke of the stars and other worlds spinning far, far away. Nebulae and galaxies swirling off into the distance might be lovely, but they held not a candle against the perfection of the park bench. 

Technically, visitors weren’t allowed to remain in the park after midnight, but no one bothered the pair. They had as much right to be there as the bench itself, and they were both as loath to leave. Aziraphale lost himself in the overwhelming sensation of Crowley’s enveloping love. He’d always been able to feel it, but he hadn’t understood the feeling until very recently.4 Even once he understood, he hadn’t been able to indulge. Not the way he wanted to. Crowley’s thumb stroked against him once more. Closing his eyes, Aziraphale let his head drop backward as he focused all of his attention on enjoying the sensation. 

Three days passed before Crowley asked, very gently, if he could walk Aziraphale home. 

Blushing dreadfully, Aziraphale was really rather torn. On the one hand, it was a truly courteous offer. On the other hand, his hand. He would probably have to release Crowley to walk down the street. Then again, Crowley might offer his arm. As if reading Aziraphale’s thoughts, the demon squeezed the angel’s palm. Just once. Aziraphale trembled. Then, he accepted Crowley’s offer with as much dignity as he could muster. 

Crowley didn’t let go of his hand. Through the park and down the street, they walked hand in hand, fingers intertwined, hearts joined. It was positively decadent, but hardly indecent. In the modern era, couples might even share a kiss in the road without anyone thinking it inappropriate. So when a rough character said something rather rude5 as they passed, Aziraphale was quite shocked.

Tripping over nothing, the man dropped his expensive looking telephone, smashing the screen irreparably. 

“You didn’t have to do that, my dear.” 

“He didn’t have to open his fat mouth, did he?” Crowley tightened his grip on Aziraphale’s hand slightly, but it was no longer purely a matter of pleasure. Protective, and more than a little possessive, the demon edged closer and closer to the angel as they walked. 

All too soon, they arrived at the bookshop. “Come in for a drink?” Aziraphale suggested hopefully. 

Unexpectedly, Crowley lifted their joined hands to brush his lips over Aziraphale’s knuckles. “Alright.” 

The bookshop door swung open instantly without anyone touching the lock or the knob. In front of the couch, a bottle of Grand Siècle appeared, popped its cork, and bubbled into two champagne flutes. After grinning at Crowley on the doorstep for far longer than strictly necessary, Aziraphale lead the way. By the time the couple reached Aziraphale’s sofa, ripe strawberries and sweet cream had joined the champagne on the coffee table. 

“Isn’t this romantic,” Crowley drawled. 

“Do you mind?” 

Dropping the pretense, Crowley said, “Not in the least.” His free hand rose slowly to cup Aziraphale’s cheek. Giving the angel every possible opportunity to withdraw, the demon lowered his mouth to claim a soft kiss. Once again, Aziraphale’s corporeal body sparked to life with delight at Crowley’s touch. Happily, this time Aziraphale had a good use for all those lovely hormones. 

Releasing Crowley’s hand, Aziraphale wrapped his arms around the demon and reeled him back in for a far more intimate embrace. The sensations were overwhelming. Crowley’s teeth were so very sharp and his tongue was significantly more flexible than the human norm. After centuries of curiosity and longing, Aziraphale finally buried a hand in Crowley’s hair. It was silky and soft between his fingers, just as he had always known it would be. 

Crowley was a perfect gentleman. One of his hands still stroked along Aziraphale’s cheek and jaw, guiding and guarding their kiss. His other went to the small of Aziraphale’s back, holding and supporting their embrace. Unlike Crowley, Aziraphale felt no need to resist this particular temptation. Stroking downward, Aziraphale palmed along the rough curve of Crowley’s trousers until he could seize upon that perfectly muscled rump. Some might think Crowley’s corporation a little on the thin side, but his bottom was divine.6

“Aziraphale!” Crowley’s voice was a low, urgent rumble and his breath so very hot across an angel’s cheeks. Dark glasses shaded his desire from view, but Aziraphale could feel it humming in the air between them. Like ozone crackling before a thunderstorm. 

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, as softly as he could, “would you mind terribly removing those?” 

With a small, indulgent smile, Crowley backed out of the enveloping circle of Aziraphale’s arms. In controlled, precise movements, he bowed his head slightly, drew down his sunglasses. Folding first one arm of the frame, then the other, he set the glasses down on the table with a click and looked up to meet Aziraphale’s eyes. 

It was even better than touching. The pure, undisguised love flooding the room found focus in those golden eyes. Every hair, feather, and metaphysical particulate of Aziraphale’s being stood to attention. Crowley was already naked in every way that mattered. Waiting any longer was only a pointless exercise in self denial. Aziraphale pounced. 

The silver scarf landed on the back of the leather armchair and Crowley’s jacket wound up draped over a display of first print mystery novels from the 1920s. His fashionable, expensive waistcoat dropped simply to the floor, and one of the buttons rolled underneath the sofa. Aziraphale couldn’t even be bothered to notice where the black shirt went because he finally, finally reached skin just then. Silk smooth, beautifully warm, tanned golden skin slid beneath his fingers. A little thatch of red hair was arranged in artful tufts around the chest and drifting lower. A lovely hirsute frame trailed around an unnecessarily attractive belly button and down into the depths of tight, denim trousers. 

Crowley groaned and shifted beneath Aziraphale’s hands. All of the angel’s attention was focused on the demon in his arms. Failing to notice the ripple of occult energy was impossible. 

“Did you just change yourself, my dear?”

Shaking his head quickly, Crowley pulled Aziraphale into another breathless kiss. “Doesn’t matter.” 

Distracted by the long planes of bare skin beneath his fingers and the sweet flavor of Crowley’s tongue, Aziraphale took more than a moment to answer. “It matters a little.” 

“You did all this.” Crowley waved absently at the bubbling champagne and the carpet of rose petals now blanketing the sofa. Another kiss, even more tempting than the others, drew Aziraphale in. Competent, clever hands slid Aziraphale’s jacket down over his shoulders, dropping it gently over the arm of the chair as Crowley pressed him backward. Unfortunately, the possibilities continued to bother him. 

“Really, Crowley. What did you do?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” With his thumbs hooked into his fashionable trousers, Crowley looked like the cover photo for a magazine that ought to come wrapped in brown paper. He unbuckled his belt, slowly. 

Aziraphale pointedly did not drop to his knees or close the distance between them. 

“Just, gave myself the standard package.” Shrugging, Crowley unbuttoned his fly. 

Mouth watering with anticipation, Aziraphale nevertheless swallowed hard and forced himself to say, “That really isn’t necessary, my dear. I have absolutely no preferences when it comes to this sort of thing.7 I’m sure if you prefer a non-standard package, I don’t mind in the least.” 

“Nah,” Crowley said. “Nothing like that. Never wanted to make the effort before. Figure I might as well start with the basics.” Slithering out of his trousers, Crowley tossed the remainder of his clothing away to reveal the area in question. 

Every thought in Aziraphale’s head seemed to evaporate. Crowley had a little more than the standard package, but only a little. Long and perfectly formed like the rest of him, it had just the right amount of ginger framing the base and cradling his balls. How Aziraphale ached to touch! But he knew he really mustn’t. 

“Don’t you like it?” 

“Very much, dearest.” Aziraphale licked his suddenly dry lips. “You’re absolutely beautiful in every way, but I wouldn’t like you to do this just to please me. If you don’t desire—”

“Don’t desire?” Crowley laughed. He dropped back casually against the arm of the sofa. One of his hands draped against his thigh, terribly close to his proud, erect, and apparently brand new phallus. Aziraphale wanted him to touch it. Wondered if he would enjoy touching it. Considered how much he might enjoy someone else touching it. “Angel, I’ve wanted this for six thousand years.” 

“Surely if that was the case you would have manifested something before now.” 

“With a human?” Crowley waved his hand dismissively. Aziraphale’s eyes tracked those elegant fingers out over the couch cushions and all the way back to where that gorgeous erection just waited. He still didn’t touch. Aziraphale strained to understand how he could refrain. “Seemed too much like hard work to be worth the effort. And you can’t imagine I’d be interested in any of my lot. Nah, I was waiting on you.” 

“But.” Aziraphale tried not to stutter. He couldn’t look away from Crowley’s fascinatingly new body. “But, that does indicate a certain lack of interest in the act itself, which—”

“Do you want me to seduce you? Would you like me to beg?” Aziraphale met Crowley’s eyes then. They were still so very full of love. “I will, angel. I would do anything in this world to please you. But I want this. If you do. I want to be with you. I always have done.”

“Yes, yes quite. I quite understand Crowley. Truly. But we can be together without—” 

“Also, ideally, I’d like to fuck. Again, only if you’re interested.” 

Aziraphale couldn’t say anything to that. His lungs seemed to be malfunctioning and refused to draw in air. 

“The physicality of our corporal forms joining. Thrusting together with force of will toward an urgent, irresistible culmination. I want that. Not picky about which of us does the thrusting. Dealer’s choice. But I’ve been imagining us together in pretty much every way I’ve witnessed humans going about it for—oh, let’s just say a while. I would really, really like to fuck. Just to reiterate, I’m happy to make with the seduction or the begging at any point.” He worried his lower lip a little. “Thought maybe you’d like some honesty first.”8

“Yes!” Aziraphale cried, throwing his hands in the air as he realized he ought to have spoken up already. “Oh, yes!” Falling forward hastily, Aziraphale pressed a hard kiss to Crowley’s incredible mouth. “A thousand times yes, my dear! The honesty, that is. Not the seduction. Well, you’re very welcome to—another time? Do you mind if I just—this time around, might it be entirely out of the question for me to—”

“Anything you want, angel,” Crowley repeated, his hands gently gripping the curve of Aziraphale’s waistcoat. “Always.”

Not bothering with words, Aziraphale dropped to his knees. 

That first taste of Crowley was life altering. It was like discovering garlic all over again for the very first time. Who could have imagined that a hint of brimstone would so perfectly compliment the savory salt skin and bittersweet fluid? It was dill sauce for gravlax, wasabi on roe, and just a touch of cinnamon in cocoa. The whole flavor profile shifted into something utterly unique. Rolling it around in his mouth for a proper taste, Aziraphale sucked appropriately and undulated his tongue to encourage a little more fluid from his counterpart. 

Remembering how useful hands were for the purpose, Aziraphale brought one of his own up along the inside of Crowley’s thigh to cup his sack. So high and tight, it deserved more than a little attention. Aziraphale stroked the tender skin there gently, smoothing the curly auburn hair. In response, the demon made a soft, eager sound, twitching in Aziraphale’s mouth and rewarding him with a little spurt of flavor. Humming in approval,9 the angel stroked one finger along the little trail behind Crowley’s lovely stones. 

“Angel!” Crowley canted his hips up and both of his hands plunged into Aziraphale’s curls. For balance or pleasure: it didn’t matter. Those long fingers twisted along Aziraphale’s scalp, tugging and massaging in turns, connecting him to Crowley in the best possible way. He knew what Crowley wanted. Dipping his finger further back, he teased along the tense pucker of Crowley’s anus. A little salve he liked from the old Mesopotamian days popped into being on the floor beside one of the demon's scaly feet. As soon as Aziraphale put it to use, slipping his finger inside just the least little bit, Crowley lashed beneath him like a cobra. 

His wordless cry ended in a hiss. It might have been a please. Aziraphale was happy to oblige. His own mouth was so deliciously full. Soon enough he would be treated to the full experience. All he had to do was stroke into Crowley a touch deeper, pull him in closer, swallow him down all the more. Not that he was eager to rush to a conclusion. Far from it. Crowley writhed and hissed and lurched beneath Aziraphale in such a wanton display that the angel would have happily stayed right there on his knees for a century. 

They managed about five minutes. 

Sudden tension snapped Crowley as taut as a wire, his voice reverberating through the bookshop in a chorus of ecstasy. He flooded Aziraphale’s mouth with delectable pleasure, which the angel eagerly supped right down to the final drop. When he released the tender new organ, Aziraphale wiped the corners of his mouth primly and looked up at his friend. 

Unmoving, Crowley leaned against the arm of the sofa without breathing or blinking. He seemed to be riding very lightly in his corporeal form. Aziraphale rose to his feet. He touched Crowley’s hand gently with his own. 

“Was that alright, my dear?” 

As his eyes flicked to Aziraphale, Crowley seemed to fall back into his corporeal body, manifesting his wings in an accidental way that bespoke a certain laxity of control. 

“Is it always so—?”

Aziraphale threaded their fingers together, but he didn’t close the space between their bodies. “It can be a little overwhelming, can’t it?” 

“I knew,” Crowley said, but he did not voice what he knew. Instead, he reached up to kiss Aziraphale, his wings mantling around them both. 

Keeping the kiss light and sweet, Aziraphale let Crowley do all the embracing. “I love you.” 

Crowley looked at him with steady, unblinking eyes. Aziraphale felt his face flush red. 

“It just occurred to me that I hadn’t actually said.” 

Smiling softly, Crowley drew the angel in for another kiss. “About fucking,” he began, breaking away gently. 

Laughing at that was absolutely necessary. So was nuzzling his forehead against Crowley’s. No angel could possibly resist the temptation to do so. “We can work up to it,” Aziraphale said. “It can be rather intense. I would not want to beset or besiege your new form with my desires. That particular act can wait.” 

“Oh, sure.” Crowley nodded. The smile playing about his lips did not diminish in the slightest. Deft fingers made short work of the buttons on Aziraphale’s waistcoat, and he found himself drawn into another kiss as it slipped off over his shoulders. His tie went next, draped neatly beside his folded, unrumpled shirt. 

“We should take a break,” Aziraphale suggested weakly. “Champagne?” 

“Could do.” Crowley’s hands tweaked Aziraphale’s nipples cheekily. Then they wandered lower. “Or, you could take off your shoes and fuck me.” 

Aziraphale shuddered. “Decided to seduce me after all?” 

Crowley kissed his jaw, nipped his throat, then scraped his sharp teeth over Aziraphale’s bare shoulder. “I want more.” Looking down, Aziraphale saw only those eyes of slit gold. “I want _everything_. I want to know, and I want to know _now_.” Crowley grinned. “Indulge me, angel?” 

Aziraphale stepped back out of the enfolding circle of Crowley’s dark wings. More than the love that continued to flood the room in endless waves of emotion, more than hundreds of years of aching want, the disappointment that flashed ever so briefly across the demon’s face as Aziraphale withdrew gave the angel total certitude. Proceeding was the Right Thing To Do. 

“Turn around,” he requested. 

Crowley made a show of it, of course, as though he hadn’t doubted for a second. As though he didn’t know what doubt was. Spreading his wings wide as he turned, the demon splayed shamelessly out along the back of the sofa, rose petals sticking to his calves, pillowing his knees. He posed like a Michelangelo: easy, eager, and oh so enticing. 

“I love you,” Aziraphale said again, without any forethought whatsoever. 

Looking back over his shoulder, the lower part of his face shaded by his own wing, Crowley said, “I know.”10

Delighted, Aziraphale miracled away his remaining clothes, plucked up the salve from the floor, and sallied forth to enjoy the feast on offer. Running his hands up Crowley’s perfect thighs seemed the right way to start. When he reached that glorious ass, Aziraphale gave it a little squeeze. He had no intention of leaving it unloved for long. First, however, he had to stroke along Crowley’s lower back, press a kiss between his shoulder blades, and touch the demon’s wings. 

“Isn’t it an effort having them out in this plane of existence?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Don’t you want all of me?” Crowley turned his head to look off toward the books behind the sofa. Miraculously, a mirror appeared there just in time for Aziraphale to catch the naked emotion in those serpentine eyes. Yes, Crowley wanted everything, and he was embarrassed by it. Imagining why was very difficult. Stroking his wings, Aziraphale pressed a kiss to Crowley’s neck and extended his own. They made a beautiful contrast in the mirror, white and black feathers spread together. 

“Lust is an excellent look on you, my dear.” 

In the mirror, Crowley’s eyes went wide. His body arched, his hands tightened on the back of the sofa, and his mouth thinned. “If you want lust, angel, maybe you should bloody well touch me.” 

Aziraphale did so at once, slipping two fingers down the curve of Crowley’s ass to dip inside and start working him open. As he did so, he reached out with his other hand took hold of Crowley’s. Threading their fingers together this time pinned Crowley’s hand to the sofa back, but the demon didn’t seem to mind. Judging by the way his legs spread and his body opened for Aziraphale, his left hand was far from the center of Crowley’s focus. 

“Let me know if I go too slowly for you.” Aziraphale pressed kisses along Crowley’s scapulars, tracing up to the marginal feathers as he scissored the fingers of his right hand. Unable to resist, he pressed his own erection to the side of Crowley’s hip.“Your taste, your eyes, the heat of your body: there is so very much to get lost in.” 

“I don’t care.” Crowley’s eyes were shut so tightly in the mirror. “Don’t act like I care. Take your time; I’ve never cared.” 

“I don’t do it to make you wait,” Aziraphale said. Explaining felt important. Rubbing his cheek along the soft black down of Crowley’s coverts felt absolutely necessary. Because he truly didn’t want to make his lover wait, Aziraphale also took the opportunity to twist his fingers inside Crowley in what he knew to be a deeply pleasing way. 

The demon’s eyes flew open to meet Aziraphale’s in the mirror. “Angel!” Gasping, Crowley shut his eyes again, shaking his head. “I don’t mind. Take six years with the soup course, if you want. As long as I’m at the table with you, I’m happy.”

Aziraphale squeezed his hand. Six years. That was a thought. Of course, it couldn’t be right away. Say what he might, Crowley probably wasn’t up for quite that much his first time around the block. Also, if Aziraphale didn’t do his books every quarter, the shop would be audited again. Six years would take some advanced planning. They would have to go away somewhere, perhaps to a lovely little cottage on the South Downs where time might move around them without trouble. Even so, it was a beautiful idea. Thirteen or fourteen months might be just enough time to give Crowley’s backside the appreciation it so richly deserved. Naturally, his phallus, brand new and made just for Aziraphale—like a gift—would require twice as much attention. Six years had a very nice ring to it. The angel made his feelings about the suggestion clear by curling his fingers along Crowley’s prostate for the first time. 

As a reward, he was struck in the face with a large black wing. He giggled into the feathers, but he didn’t withdraw an iota. 

“Sorry,” Crowley said, and clearly meant it. “I can ditch them.” 

“Don’t you dare.” Aziraphale squeezed their hands together and bent over the dark wing to kiss Crowley’s shoulder. “You were right. I want all of you. All of you, Crowley, and I mean it.” 

Hissing softly, the demon met Aziraphale’s eyes in the mirror. “Then take me already.” 

Some other time, Aziraphale would linger over Crowley for hours, all fingers and tongues and unrushed pleasures. Yet Crowley wasn’t a human. Lingering wasn’t—strictly speaking—necessary. If the demon believed he was ready, then he was. There could be no chance of mixing pain into their pleasure. And Aziraphale’s own erection ached for attention. One did not like to rush, but when the time came for the main course, there was no sense in letting it cool on the plate either. 

“If you’ll say it.” 

Crowley’s whole face softened in the mirror. “Don’t you know, angel? Can’t you feel it? Haven’t you been able to feel it for years?” 

“Not that.” Aziraphale hid his pleased smile in another kiss to Crowley’s wing. It was very nice to hear Crowley refer to the love that filled any room they shared, but speaking of that didn’t feel necessary. Eliciting a promise while he had such a lovely advantage did. Crowley always kept his promises. “Six years—of my choosing—sometime soon.”

If anything, the demon’s face went even softer. “Rest of my life, angel. Always. Anytime you want me, I’m yours. I promise: six years. I’ll promise you sixty thousand, if you like.” 

Aziraphale gave his prostate another little stroke in gratitude. 

Crowley moaned, arching into Aziraphale’s touch like a true profligate. “Now,” he panted. “Now would also be good. Really, really good.” 

Overjoyed, Aziraphale laughed again. “I do love you so, my dearest,” he said, bringing his right hand around to Crowley’s hip and moving into a more direct position at his back. This was complicated ever so slightly by the fact that he refused to remove his left hand from Crowley’s own. Such a thing could be no true impediment, however. With plenty of delightful salve and a long, luxurious stretch, he pressed forward into Crowley’s body. 

Marvelous, overwhelming sensation took hold of him then. He had to close his eyes. To revel in the tight, squeezing heat surrounding an organ entirely designed for pleasure. Burying himself in bliss, the angel paused, utterly enveloped. 

“There it is.” Crowley’s voice was a low growl, full of avarice. Aziraphale blinked his eyes open to meet Crowley’s in the mirror. The demon’s face was a dark portrait of greed and possession. As though what he wanted more than anything was to own the expression on the angel’s face. “Like that, do you?” 

Hearing the underlying question didn’t require supernatural abilities. “Very, very much,” Aziraphale confirmed. “I’ve always _liked_ you, Crowley. And I love you as well, of course.” 

“Of course.” It was Crowley’s turn to break into a helpless laugh. Aziraphale could feel it in the back which brushed against his belly, in the tensing of muscles around his phallus, in the fluttering of wings. He could see Crowley’s glorious smile, the perfectly sharp row of teeth gleaming in the mirror. Hearing it was best, however, the low intimacy of laughter for just the two of them. “Always making virtues of my villainies, you are angel.”

Aziraphale rocked a little against Crowley’s body, trying to find the best angle. Losing himself in the slick slide would be far too easy. Crowley grunted and rocked with him, obviously eager to please. Technically, it was Aziraphale’s turn. He could just enjoy himself, but this was Crowley. There was a better way. He soon found it. He could tell by the sharp, sudden curse falling from the demon’s lips. Then he was free. Letting go entirely, Aziraphale drove into Crowley’s body, meeting every arch with an equal and opposite thrust. Pounding away, using his wings for leverage and added force, he gave himself over to the sheer joy of coupling. 

Crowley cried out and spilled all over the sofa back beautifully, tightening and tensing around Aziraphale, but it didn’t inhibit the rhythm at all. Aziraphale was quite capable of riding him right through that and driving on, hard and fast, in pursuit of his own pleasure. Crowley groaned and slumped and spread his wings and let his beautiful body be put to productive use. 

Aziraphale produced. No ecstasy in all of his experience was ever so sublime. No mortal delight could compare. No heavenly euphoria approached such rapture. Aziraphale felt as though his very soul spilled into Crowley, as though they were truly two halves of an all important whole. Perhaps they were. Perhaps that was what they’d grown to be.

Some time later, as his skin cooled, he removed himself to sit beside Crowley on the sofa. At great personal cost, he also released the demon’s hand. 

Crowley mumbled something unintelligible and collapsed down the couch in a boneless heap that somehow—delightfully—ended with his head pillowed in Aziraphale’s lap. The angel stroked his hair. 

“Worth the wait, my dear?” 

“Dunno. Probably have to do it a few more times to decide if I like it.” 

Aziraphale chuckled. “I would be happy to indulge you.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. He started the practice in Greece around 2,800 years after leaving the garden, and he never really stopped. Some centuries were obviously more indulgent than others, however, and he’d had a very lovely time as a member of a private gentlemen’s club during the nineteenth. Back
> 
> 2\. Such as, say, lots and lots of sex. Back
> 
> 3\. Bicycle. Back
> 
> 4\. For beings older than the planet, 1941 is practically current events. Back
> 
> 5\. Aziraphale would never repeat such language. Frankly, you should be ashamed of yourself for wanting to read it. Back
> 
> 6\. Well, demonic. Back
> 
> 7\. This was an angelic white lie. Aziraphale happened to be rather fond of a well-situated phallus on a partner, and he certainly preferred to have one himself. However, Crowley’s appeal was so far beyond any past experience or partner that if he had a teacup full of steel wool down there, the angel would joyfully figure it out. Back
> 
> 8\. This was demonically disingenuous. Crowley knew perfectly well that Aziraphale would be far more interested in a display of virtue than a pantomime of desire. It might be his first time copulating, but it was hardly his first temptation. Back
> 
> 9\. Communication is very important. Back
> 
> 10\. He knew the reference would be lost on the angel, who preferred live theater and refused to set foot in a cinema ever since Lerner ruined the ending of _Pygmalion_ , but he couldn’t resist. Back


End file.
